Red Thread Of Fate (Knight! Simon x Magic! F! Reader)
This is a play on a book idea of mine about threads that bind the worlds together!
Word count about 1300
Masterlist
The light filters in from between the blinds as a form shifts through the dark. He was a wraith, haunting the hall, and is haunted himself. A mask hangs loosely from his fingers as he paces quietly.
What were those moments in between the dreams? Lucidity walks and pulls him under. When did it turn to love?
The mood shifts with a passing glance as you sleep soundly. You had come home after a normal day to an empty cottage as usual. The aloneness was an old friend to you at this point.
“Spinster, cursed to love death himself.”
Their cautious whispers lifted as you passed in the market, an old wicker basket in the crook of your arm filled with herbs and flowers. Despite all you did for the village, they dare speak of you like this?
The sheets pull taut as you move, some unease settling onto your sleeping face. The figure in black moves on instinct. A gloved hand reaches to caress your cheek, your movement calming in his grasp. There is a sigh.
-
The empire had fallen, bloodshed and tears stained the land, and the peace from ancient times had been broken. He had led the revolution, astride a black horse, clad in silver steel; he was the hand of justice and the tyrant's reprieve. It was on a lone summer day, the cusp of fall, clutching the land, when he met you.
Shadows chase his sight as the spear lodged in his chest tightens his breathing, his horse carrying him down the moonlit path. The forest grew thick with tension as the Capitol burned a bright star on the horizon.
Simon had led the final charge, breaking down the walls and rushing into the fray; it was only when his second-in-command thrust the spear through him in betrayal that he began to see. Starlight guides his way now; on the cusp of death, he collapses in a glade, towering willows caging his soul in as the fae begin to stir.
“Here comes death, a soul lost to the path.”
But even as his vision swam and the stars fell above, there was satisfaction in the killing of the emperor and the severing of sinew and flesh. Blood seeped an offering into the ground below, and as he drifted into eternal sleep, the fae stopped singing.
“What's this/ a soft hare/ in the wolf's breath.”
Soft hands work quickly, pulling off his helmet and mask, as his vision finally fades in the dark. There is a chime, clear as silver bells, and there is pain. Scorching, searing pain burns his chest, and he grunts, hands clenching into fists as the spear is yanked out and spirits fill the gaping hole in his chest. The following voice is a balm.
“Easy, Sire.”
He relaxes back into the grass as his armor is discarded piece by piece. The angel he decides in delirium is efficient as a smell of salve crosses his chest.
You work quickly, hushing the worried neighs of the horse, A kind spirit despite her size. She murmurs for her master in a quiet voice. The fae dance in the moonlight, some straying into your sight, curious, but you wave them off as you finish with the salve.
“His spirit is drifting; I must seal it.”
You pull a sharp knife from your satchel and swipe it along his chest, splitting the thick linen of his shirt to expose a marred chest. The blood seeps into your fingers as you dig in yoru satchel blindly before producing a quill.
“I am sorry, Sire.”
You address him before touching the quill to the blood seeping from his wound.
-
Simon jerks awake in a panic, his heart racing as he sits up in a simple bed, a tightness in his chest slowly releasing; he can feel the threads, gossamer in the daylight filtering into the room from the window. They string all about the room, and he feels a knot in his chest as there is a knock at the door.
He calls a low come in, and the very radiance of life enters.
Dressed in a deep forest gown, the length of your sleeves trails along the floor as you enter. Dark eyes widen when you approach, and he feels the tug then, a solid ruby thread bound to his chest pulls taut, and you stumble in surprise. He acts on instinct, finding his footing as he rushes forward to steady you, bandaged arms tightening around your waist.
You blink up at him with silver eyes, distilled moonlight that glows warmly. He stares into your eyes before coming to himself, yet he lingers, fingertips spreading along the fabric of your dress as he pulls himself up to his full height.
You pull back first, a hand reaching up to the knot in his chest.
“The threads have settled,” you eye the red fateline, “despite some unforeseen consequences, Sire.”
Simon traces the red thread to where it anchors in your chest. He had heard the tales, a spinster of fate in the Old Woods, but he paid it no mind; he had no time for fate when he had an empire to besiege. He knew of the threads, the binding between worlds and souls, but he had never been gifted the Sight to see them. But here he was, tangled in gossamer threads and, with the blood thread before him…
“We are fate-bound.” He speaks deeply, calmly even, flexing his sword arm as he looks himself over, but makes no motion to move. You realize then just how close he was, startled by his admission, you step back, but dark eyes anchor you down.
“Would you run Fate-Seer?”
His eyes are umber, the deep woods and liquor. There is then a keen shine in them, and he reaches a hand up to pluck at the red thread. It chimes throughout the room as a tender heat warms your heart.
“No.”
It comes out small, defiant even, as you step forward. His hand lifts as a grin flitters onto his scarred lip, his fingertips brushing against yours where they rest at your side. He murmurs something softly, a prayer to the guardian mother, perhaps, before dipping his head down to yours. Blond hair curls, dried from a wash, rid of sweat and blood. There is a bandage wrapping his left shoulder that curls up his neck; your work is clean and precise.
“Mother bless me.” He says quietly, and you can feel his breath on your cheek, heart pounding as he observes the curves of your face. His fingers open and take your left hand, warm in his grasp. His fingers search, tracing along your knuckles, finding no ring.
“You are unmarried?” He asks quietly, finally engulfing your hand and holding it.
“Yes.” You answer simply, but your heart is burdened by the prospect.
He watches the downshift of your eyes, a frown pulling his lips down. He then lifts your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your bare knuckles. Your cheeks warm, and you dip your head shyly.
As your eyes fall, you see the mended hole in his chest, just shy of his heart. Spiraling script, inked in blood, stains his pale skin. Lines of thick muscle trail down his torso, disappearing under plain black pants. He is in all ways a warrior, scars and healed puncture wounds dotting his skin. You could never have imagined such a person for yourself.
It was a trick of fate, you think, never before had the threads bound You!
Your eyes trail back up to his. There is a quiet intensity there, and the world seems to swallow up the sound as he leans forward, his other hand coming to your jawline, thumb brushing your lower lip.
Helllooo! Request are open and I'm running over here. Can I request hdc for alejandro vargas and ghost, being jealous because there crush is a little bit touching with another men. Thank youu honey.
A/N: This is definitely an interesting one! I'd be happy to write these for you, since you specifically specified them, I'll just do them for this one. :) I hope you enjoy, darling! I'm still learning how to write for Ale, so I apologize if he's a bit OOC! Also, thank you all for over 1,000 notes on my first headcanon request! I am so, so happy you all are liking the post! ~ Hannah
ALEJANDRO VARGAS
I imagine with Alejandro, this would be a slow burn friends to lovers sort of situation. You, Alejandro, and Rudy have all been friends since you all joined up together. Alejandro has always been on the flirtier side with most people, which is why whenever he flirts with you, you don't tend to think much of it. That's just who he is, right?
Los Vaqueros had just gotten a new member, a young, handsome man in his mid-twenties. He's conventionally attractive and funny, which some of the other women definitely admire, but your thoughts are elsewhere. Unfortunately - or fortunately, if you look at it a certain way - you were assigned to show him around the base and get him up to speed.
Cut to the both of you in the mess hall on base, chattering away. Alejandro sees the both of you, and his blood boils. Who does this hijo de puta think that he is?
What really pisses him off is when the young man leans in, saying something that makes you laugh and you playfully shove him away with a coy smile. Alejandro quickly storms out, furious with the young man, but furious with himself for getting so upset.
He doesn't realize you follow him out until he feels your hand on his shoulder.
"Ale? What's wrong, hermano?" If only you knew how much he hated that nickname coming from your lips.
When he turns, one look at how concerned you are, and all his frustrations come spilling from his lips. He's just about to brush it off as him being silly when you don't respond right away before a laugh is erupting from you.
"Ale, he's not into me. He's just friendly. I thought he was flirting with me earlier, but he let me know that he's no even interested in sexual stuff. He's ace," You reassure, and suddenly, Alejandro feels ridiculously stupid. But that falls aside when you stand on your toes and brush a kiss to his cheek. "Now come on, cariño, you need to eat." His eyes follow you as you return to the mess hall, and he's stunned into silence.
Maybe he feels a little less bad about getting jealous.
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY
This man hates his jealousy. Despises it.
But, it's a part of him nonetheless, and it's something he has to live with.
I imagine it as quiet, little things around base that really gets to him: you're a medic, a really good one at that, and the men absolutely love you for how kindly you treat them all. You have patience, but you aren't afraid to bark orders at them if they're acting out of place.
"MacTavish, if you rip your stitches one more time, I'll kick your ass into next fucking week." "Captain, I don't care if you have more paperwork to do, get your ass in bed before I drag you there myself." "Hold still or I will personally strap you to this cot myself, rookie."
Your feisty nature and take-no-shit attitude is absolutely what drew him to you initially. Cue almost a year of pining on his end, and on your end, but not to his knowledge.
The final straw that ultimately cracks his resolve is a young sergeant that is trying to flirt with you while you stitch up a bullet wound on his side. It's obvious you're just being polite as you accept his compliments and hum in response at his attempts at flirting, but it still rubs Simon the wrong way.
Simon's jealousy is quiet, boiling, settling in the center of his chest. Every touch of yours against the sergeant's skin merely stokes the flames, but he does nothing, continuing to brood in the corner. He waits until you're done, shooing the young man off with a half-assed threat of harm if he ruins his stitches. That's when you finally notice him.
"Ghost, what have I told you about lurking in my med bay?" You tease softly before taking note of the hard look in his eyes. Slowly, you put two and two together, chuckling softly. "Ah, I see. C'mere, big guy."
He isn't mad. Not at all. All he can think about is that young man, who has all he doesn't: charm, good looks, youth, and the blessing of a childhood unscarred by a demon of a father. Simon isn't so lucky.
He can't stop himself as he follows your instructions, stepping into your office and taking a seat at your desk as you close the door. You sit on top of your desk and smile down at him before you hold out your hand expectantly. He furrows his brows but gives you his hand anyway, grumbling something about how he "doesn't know where your filthy mitts have been."
As soft kisses are pressed to his knuckles, however, he goes quiet. "Silly, jealous man. Can't even see that I look at you the same way you look at me. Eyes of a hawk, my ass," You tease.
He turns every shade of red beneath his damn balaclava, and you're damn certain to tease him about it as he melts back into the seat.
fantasy movie/book au ideas for ghoap after i finish this beauty and the beast one in 84 years
a lot of these are just barbie but guys hear me out PLSSSS
howls moving castle (this one would probably just be a series of drawings based on the anime, not a whole fic)
princess (prince) and the pauper (barbie)
3 musketeers (barbie, maybe that mickey mouse one too)
swan lake (prob a mix of barbie, the ballet [without the sad ending], and the swan princess [but with better writing])
cinderella (disney, 1950—maybe also inspired by the ella enchanted *book* [noting the book specifically bc the movie sucked ass])
12 dancing princesses (barbie)
sleeping beauty (disney, 1959)
anastasia (obviously will NOT take place in russia; mostly just inspired by the idea of a lost royal w/ a sad background/a country under a violent revolution—might include elements from the musical [i.e gleb instead of rasputin bc im not touching that])
the ugly princess (book by henderson smith; 5th grade me loved this book)
winter holiday/christmas themed
the nutcracker (probably inspired by both the ballet and the barbie movie)
the usual jazz, mainly Y/N/reader stuff, platonic and romantic, also some suggestive stuff but I feel like that's a given with these dummies. Also has some Soapghost!
at some point, I feel like a masterlist might be useful.
Y/N: Made you all playlists!
Y/N: Ghost, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul.
Y/N: König, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression.
Y/N: And Soap has the ABBA Gold album.
Price: For self-defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely.
Ghost, Soap, & Y/N: Okay.
Price: If you don't want to die, give me all your money.
Soap: Bold of you to assume I have money.
Ghost: Bold of you to assume I don't want to die.
Y/N: Bold of you to assume I can die.
Y/N: Subs are so fun to play with. All you have to do is hint at what you might do, back them into a corner with a look, or grab their wrist
in a certain way and they're a wide-eyed mess.
Ghost: What the fuck kind of Subway are you going to?
Soap: Substitute teachers deal with so much shit.
Gaz: Guys.
Soap: I just found out from Gaz today that when Sheperd died and the service did the 21-gun salute at his funeral, Y/N said, “They should aim at the coffin to be sure.”
Gaz: What’s up with Ghost? He's been laying on the floor for like….an hour now?
Soap: He's just a little overwhelmed.
Gaz: Why?
Soap: Y/N smiled at him.
Price: sees Ghost and Soap together
Price: They're cute. I would put them on a boat.
Y/N: You mean… you ship them?
Y/N: I am darkness. I am power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am-
Soap: A doll.
Gaz: A cinnamon roll.
Ghost: A sweetheart.
Y/N:
Y/N: …stop it.
Price, teaching Y/N to drive: Okay, you're driving and Soap and Graves walk into the road. Quick, what do you hit?
Y/N: Oh, definitely Graves. I could never hurt Soap.
Price, massaging his temples: The brakes. You hit the brakes.
Y/N: You were stabbed. Do you remember anything?
Ghost: Only the ambulance ride to the hospital.
Y/N: That wasn't an ambulance, I drove you.
Ghost: But I heard a siren.
Gaz: That was Soap.
Soap: Sorry, I got nervous.
Y/N: That's ridiculous, Ghost doesn't have a crush on me.
Price: Yes, he does.
Gaz: Yes, he does.
Ghost: Yes I do.
Gaz: What is it called when you kill a friend?
Ghost: Homicide.
Soap: Murder.
Y/N: Homiecide.
König: What is love?
Alejandro: An emotional minefield.
Ghost: A neurochemical reaction.
Y/N & Soap: Baby don't hurt me.
Even though the rest of Task Force 141 understood that you were in fact with Simon, the two of you never displayed any affection in public. Feelings were dangerous and a liability in your line of work, having that information slip into an enemy's hand was a death sentence. And even though you and Simon had this agreement, he couldn't help but want to show everyone you're his, especially when Konig found comfort in your presence and would always be by your side. And it certainly didn't help when Price had paired you and Konig up for several upcoming missions. Ghost said nothing at the announcement, but his death glare was obvious.
The mission was successful, but not without civilian casualties and bloody injuries. An enemy had come up from behind you through the window, so you pushed yourself backward and out, the two of you tumbling down the roof. The plan was to use him as a cushion for your fall, the plan didn't involve him getting impaled on a steel rod and you barely able to move in time. The sharp protrusion sliced through your side like a hot knife. The gash was deep and the blood wouldn’t stop pouring, causing your vision to go blurry and dizzy. König grabbed your vest and pulled you to the side behind a concrete cover. Labored breaths left your lips. From all the screams the Austrian had heard in his military past, yours was the most heartbreaking when he secured the tourniquet around your midriff to keep you from bleeding out. Soap and Ghost showed up at the last minute to dispense the rest of the enemy soldiers, Ghost kneeling beside you.
»Simon,« he could see the fear in your eyes, he could hear it in your voice. »I don’t wanna die, Simon.«
»You won’t, sweetheart.«
The doctors in the Los Vaqueros infirmary worked tirelessly on your wound, making sure to keep you alive and stable, but you hadn’t woken up in a week, which was beginning to worry them and your teammates. And even though Ghost didn’t show his worry, he was internally panicking. He needed you in his life. You were the only sane part of his insane lifestyle, he couldn’t lose you.
You wake up attached to a machine that monitors your heartbeat. It shows a slight increase in speed as you wake up from your neverending slumber but quickly goes back to its regular rhythm. The hospital room is crude in design, you assume you’re in some army base hospital rather than an actual hospital. Your side is stitched and bandaged, and you can’t even feel the pain, but that must be due to the painkillers in your system. They make the room spin slightly as you stare at the ceiling. You wonder how long you’ve been out cold, are the others still here, or did they continue their lives and missions like nothing happened.
The door opens and reveals a woman in a white coat, her long brown hair tied in a high ponytail. Her eyes connect with yours and her serious expression changes to a wide smile.
»You gave us quite a scare, Mrs. Ri- sorry, I was told you prefer your call sign; Shock. I’m Josele Martinez, the chief medical doctor.«
Nodding absentmindedly, you wonder what she wanted to say before she corrected herself. Maybe she confused you with another patient, that could happen if the hospital is busy.
»How are you feeling?«
»Tired, like I was run over by a truck. And high.«
»We had to dose you with medication, even in your coma your heart was going crazy from the pain. You mind if I look at the wound?«
You slip your legs from underneath the covers and over the side of the bed, lifting your hospital gown enough for her to check.
»You’ll be good as new in a few weeks. It missed your vital organs.«
She changes the bandages and you take a few deep breaths to keep from moving too much. You ask her where you are and if anyone else is here as well.
»Yeah, Task Force 141 just came back with Alejandro.«
»I want to see them.«
She leads you down several corridors, your ears picking up a conversation between Ghost and the others when you’re near the mess hall. A man with a Spanish accent seems to be the loudest. Josele opens the door, all their eyes suddenly on her. Alejandro was just about to ask what the emergency is when you appear from behind her. Soap and Price smile in greeting, happy you’re finally among the living. A large smile adorns your bruised features and it’s what prompts Ghost to wrap his arms around you.
You snuggle into the warmth his strong body provides, your own hands on his chest. You hear him breathe in your scent and you do the same, exhaling a blissful sigh. He believed he would never hear or feel you again, a burden suddenly lifting from his shoulders.
Later that evening and after several meetings with the doctor almost calling you something other than your nickname, you get a visit from Ghost. He sits down beside your bed and rises you from your slumber. You turn the bedside lamp on and sit up, a tired smile on your face.
»You’re staying here for another week, no missions.« He sees you’re about to protest and hums, »that’s an order.«
A chuckle escapes your lips, »you know my rank is higher than yours, right?«
His gloved hand caresses your cheek, »I need you safe.«
His words make your heart melt, leaning into him for comfort. The door suddenly opens and a nurse enters, carrying some medication for you. She addresses you by your last name, except it’s not yours. Ghost goes rigid. The nurse finally leaves and you look at Simon.
»Riley, huh? I don’t remember marrying you.«
For a long moment, Ghost says nothing. For the first time in his life, he’s too afraid to look you in the eyes, too afraid to say something because his voice would betray him. You gently pull his mask off and touch his cheek, blue eyes now watching your every move. Closing the gap between you two, lips almost touching, you breathe out a single word. Ghost reacts by pressing his lips to yours.
So I'd like to request some gender neutral comfort headcanons for Ghost and Graves.
No rush <3 thanks ahead if you decide to do it
of course ! <3
these semi-platonic, semi-romantic it’s up to you what you want to make of them :D
Ghost/Graves x GN!Reader comfort hc’s
cw// none (fluff) :>
pardon any mistakes i wrote this on my phone xd
<3
It was far too late for you to be up. Well— yes, you were a functioning independent person, but he felt something was wrong. You did tell the boys you were going to sleep. What were you doing slumped on the dingy couch in the kitchen? Head resting on your knees, only a sip of whiskey left in the bottle that sat next to you.
Pouring through the door was the bright yellow light that flooded the hallway. Woken from your stupor, you hit the wall with the back of your head, looking up at the man who came to witness your brooding.
simon “ghost” riley
- “oh god.”
- when he’s comforting you he’s definitely just wearing a balaclava. no mask no nothing.
- he’d just stand there for a moment, thinking about what to do.
- eventually he’s sat next to you.
- “you alright?”
- he might sound a little patronizing at first
- but he just has never seen people this down
- especially you
- he snakes his arm behind your back, gently pulling you into his side
- he won’t press you to say anything
- just comfortable silence
- he’d rub his thumb back and forth whilst holding you
- perhaps thinking of what to say
- he’d maybe panic a little if you had been crying
- “it’s okay. you’re okay, love..”
- shitty anti-jokes. you’ll seriously get an earful.
- if you’ve fallen asleep in his arms— he’d have no choice but to try and sleep with you
- he wouldn’t want to wake you up
- he’ll make sure you’re never alone when you’re feeling like this.
- also he’ll make you tea because durr
- ghost is definitely a little awkward, but at least he’s soft and somewhat sentimental
- ghost would make sure soap, gaz, and price know how you’re feeling and they’d really all step in to make sure you’re comfortable
phillip graves
- graves loves control.
- he needs control really
- so when he sees you so down, he immediately panics in his mind
- because he knows this isn’t something he can magically fix with a few convicting words
- but he’ll try anyway
- “you alright, kid?”
- he’d finish off your bottle before sitting down next to you.
- graves is definitely more of a patting person than a rubbing person (this is irrefutable i will take no dissent)
- talk talk talk . you know he isn’t afraid to use his voice
- “what’s got ya so down?”
- kisssesssss so many soft kisses on the top of your head and cheeks
- less sentimental and caring but more pragmatic.
- “let’s get ya to bed.”
- he doesn’t need the rest of the shadows to know your current condition, he knows they can be a little cruel
